Since the fateful night Bowie hit Radio City with a funkadelic thud last November, I've been dreading this album's release. Could it be Dave's decided to bite the hands that feeds, post-Diamond Dogs? He can warble "Nothing's gonna change my world" on Young Americans to his alter ego's titillation, but I fear the irrecovcable worst is upon us: Bowie's thrown in the towel on rock and concept music, preferring to booggie down to prosperity instead. Okay, Dave . . . shortchange us perfervid dupes who put stock in ya, even though we knew your financial intentions all along and considered it fine because only fools don't worry 'bout making a buck.
.....I personally feel gypped. By stifling his contemptuous tone, skirting scorn for things pathetic and mundane that haunted his prior work, Bowie is neglecting statement. By devoting himself to disco-soul, playing a purely commercial idiom in lieu of making new strides, Bowie is shunning art. With an image attached to about seven elpees with costume changes to match, it's impossible to tell who the real Bowie is anymore. Once the Spiders disbanded, Bowie's truncated Ziggy schtick was de-sapped. Tinsel to the wayside, his act deliquesced into prophecy, warning of holocaust and a host of other chimerical feasibilities during his Diamond Dogs. Bourroughs influenced phase. Supposedly theatrical. I viewed last summer's Diamond Dogs tour as ineffectual spectacle. Sure, Dave assembled and performed a fine show, but the scenery and backup band were so disappointing that the concert became an ultimate let down. As for the last Bowie tour, it literally didn't pay to blow twelve and a half bucks in order to witness blase renderings of Bowie oldies juxtaposed with his new stuporific soul bro pastiche, regardless of the bodacious Mike Garson Group. I recall having the fierce urge to upstage Bowie during "Changes" or besiege his manager to order a month's total rest immediately after the show, because it seemed Bowie could barely manage onstage.
.....Nevermind that Bowie wants to be in the mind, heart, and record racks of Young Americans; he also wants to be the Young American - a a vicarious spade, a victorious name. Never mind the title song concerns our emetic socio-political situation ("Do you remember President Nixon . . . the bills you have to pay, or even yesterday?..."), adding discodanceable components like snappy sax runs and gospelfied chorals, wrapping up with the obvious "I want the Young American.! It's disturbing enough to think how easily Bowie could finagle the latter with his chameleonlike savior-faire, knowing how a little condescension can work wonders. Bowie seems to hope he'll inveigle American youth through solidarity, relating on a common level, predicated on sheer capitalistic desire.
.....I'm unconvinced Young Americans is anything but commercial, unless it's another Bowie transition. The words trite, unenthralling, and masturbatory come to mind. Young Americans ain't got the visceral verve connected with most Bowie material; it's the epitome of every shoddy, selfindulgent delusion Dave could muster, have pressed into vinyl, and to try to sell. I wonder why John Lennon even bothered to give his vocal and co-writing support ("Fame"), much less subject "Across The Universe" to Bowie's washed-out histrionics whilst accompanying the ensuing atrocity on guitar. "Fame" is structurally identical to "Time" on Aladdin Sane, repeating the title, then enumerating its consequential drawbacks. Composed by Bowie-Lennon-Alomar team, "Fame" is a study in wretched rockstar commiseration, John and Dave apparently taking turns writing lines as if an impromptu word game. "Fame - Makes a man think things over . . . Puts him there, where things are hollow." Probable Bowie-Lennon interplay, viz: ("Fame-") "What you get is no tomorrow (Dave)" "What you need you have to borrow (John)" "Is it any wonder - You're too cool to fool (John)" "Bully for you, chilly for me (Dave)" "Got to get a raincheck on pain (John)."
.....Whereas open interpretation was necessary on Diamond Dogs, lyrics are included with Young Americans - although improved mix quality make them a requisite convenience which would've been appreciated more with the former cryptic david Bowie album. Doesn't matter on Young Americans anyhow: "Can You Hear Me," "Win." "fascination" rely on love themes, funky sound and beat more than lyrical content. "Young Americans" and "Somebody Up There Likes Me" temper racial motifs with overtones of pathos and dat oletime religion: "He's got his eye on your soul - his hand on your heart, He says 'Don't hurry baby,' Somebody up there likes me." An eerie two stanza Bowie tune, "Right," figuratively encapsulates his career through gauzed wide angle lenses ("Taking it all the right way . . . Never turning back"), the second verse sounding like the combined euphoria of success and cocaine has pulverized Bowie, verily gone to his head: "Flying in just a sweet place, Coming inside and sail . . . Never been no, Never been known to fail."
.....Not yet, perhaps. But even though I stuck with Bowie during his last stylistic change - wouldn't listen when Diamond Dogs was vilified left and right - Young Americans is a retrograde effort earning my heartsick disdain. I'd still be raving over Bowie if only he'd stop reaffirming his superstatus with tacky contrivances . . . if only he'd produce music of consistent celibre (rock, R&B, jazz, whatever - though I'd say Bowie excels in rock and wish he'd return to the fold after his filing). Hope this Young Americans in-strut-with-the-time sidetrack is just passing caprice, as was the Diamond Dogs round-the-corner cataclysm. Lord knows we need a lot more auspicious artists and lot less jive.

The title song of David Bowie's Young Americans is one of his handful of classics, a bizarre mixture of social comment, run-on lyric style, English pop and American soul. The band plays great and Tony Visconti's production is flawless - just a touch of old-fashioned slap-back echo to give the tracks some added mystery. The rest of the album works best when Bowie combines his knowledge of English pop, rather than opting entirely for one or the other. Thus, "Win", one of his best pop ballads, makes great use of an R&B chorus; it works much better than the straight James Brown impersonation "Right". He does a plaintive version of John Lennon's "Across The Universe", while "Fame and "Fascination", besides being complementary titles, continue his merger of styles on a positive note.

.....As for Bowie's growth as an artist, the highlight of the album comes when he stops the band and asks, "Isn't there one damn song that can make me break down and cry?" With any other pop singer in the world, you'd know that he or she wanted to be taken seriously. With Bowie, you just believe that he half does and half just says what he thinks he's supposed to. Which isn't bad, but only the way it is.

It's just another passing phase for the Bowie kid, but you've got to admit his contribution to the soul age is an admirable one. Now the incredible Average White Band have a pale-haired Britisher hot on their trails, out to prove that Londoners can be as soulful as the Scots. As good as the vocals on "Young Americans" are, the rest of the album sounds as if it's running at a slightly distorted speed. Leave one of your older Bowie LPs on the steam heat, then put it on the turntable and you'll see what I mean. It's not a pleasant distortion at all. It is most annoying on "Win", a song that could have been as impressive as "Sweet Thing" from Diamond Dogs. The majority of this album was recorded at Sigma Sound in Philadelphia, home of the East Coast Soul Sound. The strangest thing is that the most successful and the most soulful track on the album, "Fame", was recorded at Electric Lady Studios in Manhattan. Written by Bowie and a new collaborator named John Lennon plus Carlos Alomar, it sounds very much like the Average White Band's "Pick Up The Pieces". Once you've heard it, it sticks with you and while you listen to it, it's really quite difficult to stay still. But back to those distorted vocals. The second worst track on the album is "Across The Universe", that classic tune from the Beatles' Let It Be album. Usually I love the way Bowie interprets other people's material, but this is just hideous. Even Lennon standing at his side playing guitar was not enough to intimidate him into a better performance.

.....On the whole this is a very successful experiment for David Bowie. It is certainly much better than many of his other experiments. If fact, if he does decide to stay with this for more than one album I imagine he will become quite excellent at it. (Of course the progressive world will suffer the loss of a major creative force if he does fall into the top 40 soul music format.)

David Bowie is back with his latest musical look, this time an excursion into the land of soul. It works well. The key here is that Bowie's sophisticated soul sound (with strings, big arrangements and lots of soulful backup voices) does not sound the least bit put on. He sounds as at home here as he has in all his other musical changes, and in parts, more so. The vocals do not sound nearly as strained as they have on some of his more raucous rockers, nor do they sound as camp. Guest artists John Lenon, Willy Weeks, Andy Newmark and Jean Millington add a fine touch to the set, which should not only endear Bowie even more to his current fans but should open up an entirely new avenue of fans for him. Expect soul play on this set, for he is truly handling the music, not copying. Some non-soul oriented cuts are also included. Best cuts: "Young Americans," "Fascination," "Right," "Across The Universe," "Can You Hear Me." Dealers: Bowie is one of the major superstars in pop. All you have to do is display the set.

While David Bowie forges stubbornly on with his Tin Machine dream, EMI Records continue to re-package the back catalogue he toured around the world last year. The programme's now at the mid-1970s, with CD issues (and bonus tracks) for two of his most cherishable albums. From '75, Young Americans saw David Bowie abandon the mock-apocalyptic rock of his previous three LPs to climb aboard the Philadelphia soul train sound-Young Americans' relentless plastic soul as David Bowie dubbed it, harnessed his writing to the feverish light funk which would, in a few years' time, mutate into world-conquering disco. Especially welcome are the unfamiliar extras, Who Can I Be Now and It's Gonna Be Me-like the current Bob Dylan box, they're dazzling evidence of a writer so much on form that he could afford to reject material others would kill for.
Q Rating: *****